Draco Malfoy and his unforseen inamorato
by infinite stars
Summary: Draco and Hermione's feelings for each other change. Drastically. It's from Draco's point of view
1. Beginning of a New Year

Authors Note: Hi. This is my first fic. I'd like to thank you all for reading this, which means you are reading my story. I am in no way computer literate, so there will be formatting mistakes, it that's the right term.

I hope you enjoy this sad little story, and thanks for reading.

Disclaimer: I've noticed a lot of these so here is mine. We all know nobody makes any profit, and the characters don't belong to us. I'm no different.

Here goes nothing:

Draco Malfoy and the his unforeseen inamorato

Chapter One: Beginning of a New Year

   Draco Malfoy stretched languidly. He lay back amongst the pillows, savoring the early morning quiet he'd lived without for most of his time at Hogwarts. Having been made prefect the previous year, he now had his own quarters and was supplied with a much better bathroom than the other students. He smirked, gloating for the sake of gloating. He rolled to his side and stared out the picturesque bay window, which overlooked the lake.

Hogwarts, set on a rather high-knoll, had a numerous windows. Taking advantage of the positioning of the castle, the founders had been able to give even the dungeons an incredible view.

   Draco rose and pushed aside the coverlet. He stood and surveyed the room he'd been issued, still pleased enough with it to feel smug. He had spent the night in a particularly spectacular mahogany four poster bed, made up with the Slytherin colors, and of course, silk streamers draped from the canopy, orchestrating the frame work perfectly. On one side of circular room, a large stone fireplace glowed merrily, a few squashy armchairs facing it. He had been equipped with an elegant desk, composed of flowing lines and delicate legs, also mahogany. The wardrobe stood against the wall opposite the bed, leaning against ornate wood paneling, which had complicated carving and several wall sconces. The floor was carpeted, with large area rugs, of Persian design. Behind his desk a bookshelf had been built into the wall, and in the nook he had stored his novels, ranging from Dante, Virgil, and Shakespeare, to F.Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, and Daniel Keyes. A few frayed copies of Marcus Aurelius and Homer were tucked in as well. He also secretly kept a Hardy Boys novel, concealed behind the Aeneid. On the upper most shelf he kept a picture of his family, in a sturdy metal frame. He and his mother had grouped behind his seated father, looking distant and aloof. Next to the photograph was a squat box, also silver, and elaborately adorned.

   Thin morning light, faintly pink had begun to stream through the window. He shrugged out of his pajamas and had begun to dress himself in the approved uniform, when a firm knock sounded the room. He stepped into his robe and moved toward the door, still bare foot. He pulled open the door and looked into the corridor. Nothing. His eyes narrowed. Suddenly he felt a light tug near the knee of his robe and looked down. Winky stood before him, holding a large platter with a pot of tea and various dressings. She blushed furiously. "Winky thought sir might like some tea," she stammered. Draco smiled slyly, concealing considerable mirth. " Thanks, Winky," he murmured, nearly purring," you were right." She bustled into the room, placing the tea on his desk. She was wearing her clothes, which looked to Draco, like they had been scrubbed laboriously. Her nose was clean and she wasn't blubbering. She crossed the room purposefully and drew the curtains. A much more vibrant pink lit the chamber. "Thank you Winky," he said, smiling again, " I was just about to do that myself." Winky stammered, her cheeks conflagrant. " Sir is welcome, it was Winky's pleasure." She scurried from the room. Draco mixed tea, while chuckling fondly. The house elf was efficient, if a little clingy, and Draco appreciated her work. He accredited Dobby for introducing them; Draco had pulled an all-nighter and had had a considerable thirst for butterbeer.

He had snuck to the kitchens and Dobby had zoomed toward him, parting the crowd of jabbering elves. Draco had been surprised-and pleased to see him, Dobby having been a companion in Draco's isolated and rather lonely childhood. Dobby had snatched the remaining Butterbeer from Winky's grasp, who had yelped in protest, and pushed it toward Draco, tutting.

    He downed the rest of his tea and headed toward the great hall, intent on breakfast.

    His shoes clacked merrily against the rough flagstone of the dungeon and the sound had alerted Pansy, she had followed the trail like a bloodhound. " Draco!" she simpered breathily, " wait!" She caught him and batted her eyelashes sickeningly. Draco snorted and she laughed brightly. " Really, though," she said as they walked in a normal tone of voice, " did that elf come by again?" He smiled ruefully, " Yes, she did."

  " She's got it bad." Pansy remarked. " Yeah, but she is rather thoughtful." he countered. They talked and joked the rest of the way, resuming icy Slytherin aristocracy as they neared the entrance hall. Breakfast was beginning and the hall buzzed contentedly. It was filling up quickly, and students chatted animatedly, enjoying the last of their down time before classes began.

    Draco and Pansy strode through the double doors, robes swirled wildly, and they moved in unison. They approached Slytherins table, surveyed the goods, and picked choosily. Crabbe and Goyle had been at the table since first light, eating hungrily. The school mistakenly dismissed them as piggy bullies, when the truth was far. They were muscular and worked out regularly, both enjoyed rough sporting. The constant eating satiated their appetites and added to the charade of stupidity. Crabbe was an excellent emissary, whose ability to play dumb was seconded by only by Goyle, a genius when it came to military tactics. They were able to fool the entire student body and most of the teachers, and therefore, had more dirt to dish than Lavender Brown. It never failed to surprise the Slytherins what people talked about openly, even more so what they said around people they didn't think would comprehend.

     " Anything new today?" Draco asked as he took his seat. The entire table perked, and then leaned forward intently, rousing suspicious looks from the other house tables nearest them. Crabbe and Goyle grinned. " Lavender has suspicions Padma contracted a some sort of rash." The table looked dubious. "...from her boyfriend. We don't know how she knows, and Padma isn't that straight forward." The table drew obvious conclusions and laughed nastily, alerting more suspicion from other tables. They moved in closer, and the boys regaled them for the rest of the meal, occasional hoots keeping the rest of the hall on its toes.


	2. Scheduling

Chapter Two: Scheduling

    Draco pushed open the castle doors and swept gracefully down the steps and toward the greenhouses, his feet light. The late summer sun shone on the lake and reflected off the greenhouse's windows. The school year had been pleasant, and he was looking forward to the more rigorous teaching. He was second in his classes with Hermione, first in the ones without. He had received top marks on his O.W.L s and was looking forward to pursuing his training, which centered on the development of new potions, and discovering alternate uses for common potion ingredients. He shared no classes with his Slytherin cronies; all having chose different career paths. He veered toward Greenhouse 5, nearly flattening a group of twittering, and obviously lost, first years. Probably Hufflepuff, he reasoned disgustedly.

    The fall air was crisp and bright, quite a contrast to the dim, muggy interior of the greenhouse. He set his bag on an empty table and took a seat, surveying the varied plant life with practiced dis-taste. He pointedly ignored the assembled students. Draco was early but the contents of the "classroom" were able to keep him occupied and he hardly noticed when Hermione Granger begrudgingly took the only empty seat left, which happened to be at his table.

   Draco had cool relations with students from Ravenclaw and occasionally with a member or two from Gryffindor, but drew the line at Hufflepuff. The Herbology class was compromised mainly of Hufflepuffs with the exception of Hermione and himself, hence the wide berth he had been given. The room was dank and earthy, and the table had a bit of mold on it. " Scourgify." Hermione took care of it. Draco turned to her. She flushed but held her gaze. " What do you want?" she asked, behaving as though she didn't care. Her voice told Draco differently. " I was wondering what illness would possess someone into attempting to clean this greenhouse. It's obviously quite severe." he responded indifferently, edging a bit of acid in at the last. He looked pointedly at the broken pots and crates filled with earth and seed, the sludgy puddles of water and overall filth of the plants, some of which contently secreted thick fluids. Hermione defiantly ignored him, and pulled a thick roll of parchment and a quill from her own bag, waiting for further instructions from Professor Sprout, who had entered the room, her apron already dingy with earth. Draco took out his own parchment and quill, the room scratched busily for a quarter of an hour. Presently, Professor Sprout told them to put up the papers and grab an apron. " I'll be demonstrating the correct way to prune Thornisus, a particular vicious garden shrub, commonly used for protection of the home, but it's leaves are used in potent sedatives when ground. You'll need your gloves for this one." She usually had the students describe the magical properties of the plants she introduced, but with Draco and Hermione in the class, the competition would have probably led to violence. Draco and Hermione both made note, and then moved forward with the rest of the group, grabbing aprons and pulling on gloves.

    Professor Sprout lead them to a small bush, whose glossy viridian leaves, began to jab deftly when it sensed approach. " I looks like Mistletoe!" declared a curly haired Hufflepuff, brightly. Draco sneered. Professor Sprout, however, smiled." I do believe the Weasley Twins agreed." she said. Hermione, laughed, and Draco smiled thinly, both remembering the ensuing ruckus at last years Yule Ball when Fred and George had affixed the leaves decoratively around the table edges, and it had looked like innocent holly. The twins served detentions daily for a month, both however, considered it worth it. Draco did to. Professor Sprout, armed with small sharp garden shears, a straw and a jug of Butterbeer, approached d the shrub. She stuck one end of the straw into the jugs and jammed the other into the soil in the plants pot. Greedy sucking noises filled the room. " Thornisus usually drinks water, but if you want it to cooperate, which you do," she promised, " you give it Butterbeer or a similar sweet, which makes it quite companionable." The shrub purred for benefit. " It's obviously intelligent, and some wizards believe it can understand human voice, hence it's ability to protect our homes." She clipped at a few branches while she spoke, and they flew toward the students, most of whom had the sensibility to duck. " I want you in pairs, and ready to prune some

Thornisus!" she said enthusiastically when they had finished. The students rushed wildly, and within minuets everyone had a partner, Draco and Hermione forced to work together, as neither had friends in Hufflepuff. Professor Sprout handed them butterbeer, and shears, then pointed them toward a tangled shrub that she didn't trust the others with. They approached the shrub, wary of each other and stared at it. The girl working next to them turned. " Are you Hermione Granger?" she asked, and Draco was reminded of Pansy's joking simper. " I see you in the library sometimes, but I'm too busy with friends to work, I guess you can do it though." she was oblivious to the insult and smiled cutely. Hermione gaped, to shocked to respond, clearly growing angrier. " Normal people don't consider stuffed animals friends." Draco said offhandedly, between swigs of Butterbeer. The girl looked confused and turned to her partner for help. Hermione seized the Butterbeer from Draco and jammed the straw furiously into the soil. She clipped haphazardly and branches flew past her, some Draco was barely able to dodge. Her eyes were bright and furious, Draco noticed. Draco looked at the girl who appeared to be whispering to her friend. Hermione noticed as well and turned a brighter vermillion. Draco stooped gracefully and gathered a few of the branches in his hand, before they could begin to jab at him he pointed to the girl, the branches tensed, stiffening the leaves. Hermione turned just as Draco released them, and began to call out as they sped toward the girls' ample buttocks. She cut off her words, when she noticed the target, and her face was blank. Draco watched her consideringly as the girl was hit and began to yelp. 'It isn't like her to willingly attack someone, even indirectly.' he mused. He continued watching her, as the girl was lead to the infirmary, wincing with each step.

   Hermione finally turned. " What?" she snapped, her eyes flashed dangerously. " I'm surprised the honorable Granger allowed that to happen." he gestured toward the plant. " Well, I'm surprised the stoic Malfoy admits to confusion." she responded, snatching the butterbeer from his fist. " Stop drinking this!"

Hermione, Draco decided, was much more fun alone.


	3. Empty days, long nights

Authors Note: I'd like to thank mIsSyBiRd12, my first reviewer. You will notice I don't mention the War, it isn't my area.  
  
Chapter 3: Empty Days, Long Nights  
  
Draco looked toward the setting sun, shielding his eyes, shadow cast over the upper part of his features. The lake sparkled dreamily, and the Giant Squid was lounging at the surface, swatting lazily at the leaves floating among its tentacles, leaves, which had only just, began to fall. He pushed a bit of hair back from his face, and turned his back on the nightfall. He swept the books into his bag and headed toward the castle, he had retreated to the school grounds to work on a nasty potions essay, it had been impossible to concentrate in the library on such a beautiful day, and he had made serious headway. He slung the bag over his shoulder and crossed the line of dying sun, into the adumbration of the school. He paused for a moment in the gloom. Ascended the steps, into the castle. Alone.  
Library, dusk. Hermione Granger bent over her tomes, quiet. Breathing. She was in the farthest corner, nearest the windows. Dust mixed with the warm afternoon sunlight, dancing around her in their own private spotlight. She was alone. Scattered knots of students socialized; work forgotten on the tables before them. She looked up from the crumbling novels, out the window. Fading sun shone on the lawns, the squid tread water, and few groups of students strolled about the grounds, or sprawled beneath leafy trees, which were beginning to bronze. Around the quidditch pitch, a few small figures hovered in air, shooting around in the autumn sky. Hermione sighed, knowing Harry and Ron were out there somewhere, she in here. As most students were moving in packs she noticed the solitary figure almost at once. Silver hair reflected the sunlight, hovering over it like a halo. She watched him walk across the grounds and into the castle. She gazed out the window for a long time.  
  
Draco swept threw the main entrance of the castle, and clopped toward his chambers. His hair was sweaty and matted, Quidditch robes caked with mud. He had come from a grueling practice, which had focused on technique. Draco had been giving a few difficult diving exercises and he felt he had honed some of his skill. He was tired in the way only brutal physical exertion induces, and he was acutely aware of the muscles in his legs and hindquarter. His broom was swung jauntily over his shoulder and his robes twitched impertinently. As he moved down the corridor leading toward the Slytherin dungeons, a group of Gryffindors, containing Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger, exited the great hall, directly behind Draco. They joked together, loudly, and at times, lewdly, until Granger brought up the school day.  
Through careful eavesdropping and process of elimination, Draco learned Harry was taking the classes required an Auror and Ron had squeezed into the classes bereft Charms breakers for wizarding establishments, such as Gringotts.  
Draco wasn't surprised at Harry's career choice, and he noticed a distinct rise in volume when Harry mentioned dark wizards, for his benefit he assumed. Ron snickered appropriately, and Hermione sighed. Draco turned "I'm surprised you'd undertake the challenges of an Auror Harry, not to mention the dangers. You'd be amazed the new developments in mind control, and what they can do. I believe you remember Alastor Moody?" Harry glared at him, while Ron looked fruitlessly for an excuse to get furious. Hermione regarded Draco thoughtfully, and he matched her stare. " I'm sure you'd know all about that, what the dark wizards are doing, wouldn't you Malfoy?" said Harry. Draco slowly slid his eyes to meet Harry, staring at him, until he answered. " Yes I believe I would." His tone was light, distant.  
He turned gracefully on his heel and walked toward his suite, the Gryffindors behind him, not sure what to think.  
Once in his room, he pulled the offending uniform off and heaped it on a chair, confidant a house elf, maybe even Winky would take care of it. He threw his school robes on, and carried the rest of the school uniform in his arms, as he walked toward the prefects' bathroom. "Mrs. Skower" he muttered, lest non-prefects hear, when he reached it. The door swung open and he stepped inside. It was large and glistening, hazy, without being muggy. Considerably different from the corridor outside.  
Turning on several taps he collected towels and cleaning agents from a cupboards placed around the room and turned to the bathtub, which had already filled. He sank into the foamy depths, the water pleasant against his skin. He replayed the quidditch practice in his head, determined not to forget the difficile yet helpful moves he'd learned.  
Dinner was uneventful, Gryffindors throwing more than a few suspicious looks toward the table than usual, nothing else. Draco had difficulty to keep from crying out in boredom, frustration, and irritation at the gullible fools he was schooled with, and the meal was over soon enough.  
He lay tucked into the great bed that night, cold beneath the covers.  
Winter. The forests surrounding the Malfoy Manner were black with frost. The trees had been striped of bark almost to the branches, and the deer had begun to starve. Draco stood at the edge of the wood, watching the small deer shuffle the snow, searching for food. In his hand he held a few pieces of bread that Dobby had given him. He had attempted to feed the deer but soon learned that it feared him, and would not approach. He threw hanks of bread ripped off the slab in his fist, delighted at the snuffles the deer made as it searched for the nourishment. Suddenly, a hand bit into his shoulder, squeezed. He jumped, but made no sound. He looked up at Luscius Malfoy, whose face was hidden by the hood of his robe. He could feel his father smiling, and sensed the danger. Luscius pressed the knife into the 6-year-old Draco's hand, "When will you learn? Bother only with what you can control or manipulate, kill what you can't." Draco protested until his father's hand swung, and he was moved toward the deer by the sheer force of the blow, rather than his own will. Eventually his father pushed Draco's hand into the deer's throat until blood flowed down his fist and into the snow, steaming and red. He stared at the deer, slumped in the snow, the bread thick and scarlet in his hand. He had not bothered with the idea of right-and wrong since.  
He had tried to appease his father in anyway he thought possible and had done everything asked of him. As he grew older rebellion stirred his blood, but he knew better than to act on it. He no longer revered his father, seeing him for what he was, but the family fortune certainly meant something to him, he thought he was willing to do anything for it. The deer still haunted his dreams. 


	4. Surprises in the Library

A/N: Arghh. I'm having problems with language and formatting. This damn story is turning into a joke. Don't even bother, leave now before I inadvertently hurt you with this pathetic sap. Disclaimer: By all rights I should be sued.  
  
Chapter 4: Forced Entry  
  
Draco lay on his bed, worrying his socks. He'd had a troubled night and he was in a murderous mood. He felt as though a poisonous black cloud had managed to seep from his mind, tainting all he came in contact with.  
As his mood worsened, the stones marking the door, ground in opening. Pansy strode into the room.  
Draco turned to her. "Pansy, if you come any closer, I will kill you." She rolled her eyes, the scene was familiar.  
" Draco, I highly doubt you're willing to face Azkaban, we aren't after all, Gryffindors. You've threatened my life to many times for me to take you seriously." " I'm not joking." "Neither am I. Get your sorry ass off your bed. Nobody conquered the world lying huddled and cramped in a bunk." " I wasn't aware of any cramps." " Watch it." " Excuse me! Who is in the vulnerable position here?" "Neither of us, you wouldn't kill anybody and we both know it. Torture maybe, but kill? You aren't that messy."  
Draco's eyes revolved in his skull, but Pansy had lessened the mood considerably. "I'm afraid you'll have to get up now, or I may be forced to antagonize you." Draco sprang from the bed, and grabbed for his wand. Pansy hit him with a cheering charm before he was able to consider retaliation.  
He giggled hysterically for the remainder of the hour; Pansy had hit him hard for a reason.  
  
Later, when Draco had recovered his composure, Pansy accompanied him too the library, both intent on nasty Arithmancy essays.  
To Draco's dismay, the books he'd been hoping for had already been taken. He doubted they had been checked out, the subject less than riveting and he prowled the library, grabbing suspicious looking books from the arms of unsuspecting students. Pansy collared him and led him to a table before Draco was hexed. She withered a few of the students ready for trouble, than turned to Draco. " You had the dream again, didn't you?" " Brilliant deduction." " Control." "No." "Control." "No." "Con-" "NO! Pansy, don't you get it? We've been controlled all our lives. Our parents taught us to discipline ourselves so they wouldn't have to. I'm tired of family honor; I'm tired of pride. I want the money, but I don't know how badly." " Draco, think. The Malfoy's are one of the most hated families in Wizarding History, right with the Riddles and the Blacks. Who would take you? Where would you go? I'm asking these questions on the asinine assumption that your father doesn't have you killed. The Malfoy fortune fills 15 vaults already, and is gaining as we speak. As does the Parkinson, give or take. You can't walk away." " Pansy, thank you for pointing out the obvious facts, ones of which I have already know. It is after all MY family. Where would I go? Anywhere I want. Who would take me? Why does anyone have to take me? Would my father have me killed, doubtful, but a distinct possibility. Did I say I was leaving? No. Have I considered, a little. Would I go through with it? Probably not. Could I be pushed? Yes. As long as mother is alive, I can consider myself safe from the negative consequences of my actions, when and if she dies, we'll have to see." "You are insane. 15 vaults!" "Pansy, that money didn't just happen upon us, a Malfoy earned it once, and a Malfoy can earn it again." " Thus speaks the last true Slytherin?" " As always."  
The conspirators, confidants, friends of old, smiled tiredly at each other across the table, weary, and dis-heartened in face of the inevitable. Obscene amounts of money, controlled to their last, or Life, choices, no money, and almost certain death. One day they would choose.  
  
Hermione Granger, standing next to their table, and completely bewildered. Cleared her throat loudly. Draco turned his head slowly. His eyes smoldered.  
" What." He did not ask, merely said as was customary. "Umm, I think these are the books you were looking for. I had them." " Should have known. How, pray tell, did you know what I was looking for?" " You were disrupting the entire library, everyone knows what you were looking for." Draco took the books, and set them on the table disinterestedly. Hermione flushed. " So, uhhh, what were you guys talking about?" " What could ever make you think you have a right to know let alone comprehend? I don't draw the connection, and I frankly don't know why you care. Is there a reason?"  
Hermiones eyes flashed.  
" What was the saying? Keep your friends close and your enemy's closer? Or have you heard of it?"  
Draco's interest was piqued. " Well, Granger, we are indeed enemies. Pansy and I were discussing the pros and cons of a plot to overthrow our families, and descend our throne. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework." He swept the books from the table and into his bag, and strode from the library, parting the students effortlessly. Hermione gaped after him, and Pansy watched him leave emotions, if any, were concealed. Hermione turned, mouth agape, to Pansy. " I really didn't mean for - !" she spluttered. The Slytherin turned to Hermione. "You do realize what he told you? As far as I know, besides me, you are the only living soul who knows. I'd keep it shut if I were you; we are after all, still Slytherins. Now, if you'll excuse me, Draco has a book I need." Pansy stood and exited the library, also leaving a wake, and her robes swirled spectacularly, as had Draco's. Hermione, shocked, and trying to adjust to her expanding conception of the Slytherins, watched the other girl leave, watching the robes swirl in a non-existent draft. 'How do they do that?' her only coherent thought.  
  
A/N While writing this chapter, the movie Footloose blaring in the background, I had an interesting idea for the story, which may or may not have had something to do with Kevin Bacon's dance solo, this idea, and this idea only, will ensure further updates, for my satisfaction if nothing else. I suggest, however, that you don't read them. Read instead, Harry Potter and the Year of Rebellion, an amazing story which is on a level unattainable by this author. Cast aside my hocky claptrap and satiate your mind with Full-Pensieve's genius. Thank you. 


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